


memories (and other miserable things)

by perihelion (mattratat)



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Gen, mild spoilers through kaneshiro’s palace and through yusuke’s rank 5, references to canonical child abuse, sad about yusuke hours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:34:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25186474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattratat/pseuds/perihelion
Summary: On a perfectly normal, nondescript Saturday night, Yusuke found himself at the atelier.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	memories (and other miserable things)

On a perfectly normal, nondescript Saturday night, Yusuke was at the atelier. He wasn’t entirely sure why. 

He’d spent most of the day with the other thieves in Kaneshiro’s palace, making the final push in securing their route to the treasure. He’d been tired when they left the wretched place and had meant to go back to the dorms, but his feet had brought him here instead. Habit was a peculiar thing. 

He was sitting cross legged on the floor of his old bedroom, empty now. The police had been quick to take everything that could be used as evidence away, selling the rest to cover Madarame’s legal fees. The electricity had been shut off as well, leaving only the light of his cell phone flashlight to keep him company. He wondered if they’d condemn the building. He had a hard time picturing anyone else living in it. 

It wasn’t that he thought that life here was bad. But he’d seen the way the foundation sagged as he’d approached the door and he’d seen the paint chips falling off the walls. It was impossible to miss the window that had been broken since he was… 11? 12? He couldn’t remember. 

No, he couldn’t really imagine anyone being happy to live here. Madarame certainly hadn’t been. 

The thought made him pause, an uncomfortable lump forming in his throat. He took a moment to feel it fully, to let it sit, but nonetheless, he regretted coming alone. 

For a moment, he tried to imagine what Ren would say if Yusuke had invited him along and expressed his thoughts to him. He’d surely insist that it had never been Yusuke’s fault, that Madarame had been rotten from the start. 

But the memory of the art dealer plagued his mind, the story of Madarame’s sick child haunting him.

Yusuke didn’t know what to feel. 

He used to see the world in black and white. People were either good or they were bad, and none of that even really mattered as long as he was painting. As long as he had a brush in his hand, he was happy. 

But now there were times when his brush was, impossibly, too heavy to hold and his paintings reminded him too much of Madarame’s style and he wanted to scream himself hoarse. 

Things had been easier when he was living in denial. There was never this heavy feeling in his chest.

He knew it wasn’t right to think like that. He’d seen what that sort of thinking could do in Mementos. He knew that he couldn’t have gone on like that forever. Eventually, he would have had to gather the courage to leave or... he surely would have succumbed to the shame of seeing his paintings pranced around as his father’s.

He’d long since stopped intentionally thinking of Madarame as his father, but the thought still crept into his mind from time to time. 

Yes, Madarame has stopped being his father a long time ago. Yusuke didn’t remember much of his childhood, so he couldn’t speak for those years, but Madarame had stopped being his father the moment he asked to display Yusuke’s paintings as his own for the first time. When Yusuke refused, Madarame withheld his dinner for days. The other kids had slipped him scraps, but it hadn’t taken him long to give in regardless. 

That was the day he’d stopped calling Madarame father and started calling him sensei instead. 

He’d been so young. He was still young, but he felt a hundred years older than he had then. He’d felt so small, so powerless. Surely this was wrong, he’d asked the other students, but they only shook their heads and told him to keep his voice down. 

Eventually, he’d stopped questioning it. It was normal. It was right. He hated himself for that. He’d been a fool. A rush of anger surged through him, his hands aching for a brush, to fill a page with forceful strokes of paint, with harsh lines and accents of red. It would be a messy, violent painting, not entirely unlike his depiction of the Mementos depths. 

But the anger passed as quickly as it arrived. He wasn’t used to such fleeting emotions, especially since joining the Phantom Thieves. Before, he’d felt emotions for the long, intense periods he needed them to create art. After that, he would bury them. 

But then Ren, Ann, and Ryuji had burst into his life and slowly, he was learning how to be passionate about life, too. From changing Madarame’s heart to returning to the Kosei dorms, he had slowly found himself falling in love with the world again. 

It also helped that the Phantom Thieves all made wonderful sketch subjects. 

The walls of the shack were thin. Yusuke could hear a mother scolding her child on the sidewalk. 

A memory floated into his mind, a long forgotten moment from his childhood. Yusuke remembered coming home and crying to Madarame that he wasn’t making any friends at school and that his classmates were stupid because they didn’t want to draw on the sidewalk with him during recess. He couldn’t remember Madarame’s answer, only that his laugh had been kinder then, and that he’d scolded Yusuke for crying, but his words had been infinitely comforting. 

Yusuke missed those days, he realized with a pang. But was it wrong to miss them, when surely the other pupils were already suffering? Had Madarame already begun to abuse them by then? 

There was a prickling at the back of his neck, the only sign of Goemen he could feel in the real world. It was impossible to know what his Persona was thinking, but he got the distinct feeling that it wanted him to calm down. He hadn’t even realized that his breathing had quickened.

One day, he would try to paint Goemen’s likeness. He wondered how such a piece would be recieved by the art world. He could imagine them singing praises for his unique take on the folk character, never knowing the truth behind the piece. It would be a waste. 

Absentmindedly, he traced patterns on his knee. A nose here, a sharp eyebrow there. It was comforting in the way that only art could be. 

If Yusuke closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that he was fourteen again, waiting for Madarame or Nakanohara to come home and keep him company while he worked. 

When they’d defeated Madarame’s shadow, he’d told it that he had no reason to regret for the decision to change his heart. 

And he didn’t. He knew regret; he knew guilt. 

No... this feeling was something else, something nagging and peculiar that he couldn’t place. 

He had no regrets, so why was he here, staring down the past long after the sun had set? 

Sitting on the floor in his old room, thoughts lingering on times gone by, he felt... empty. He’d spent so many days, so many nights here consumed with passion, sketching and painting with such fervor that at times he thought he would die should he ever stop. But now, he looked at the crooked floorboard he’d tripped over countless times and at the old paint stains from spills he made as a child and felt nothing but an aching, hollow emptiness. 

The old shack had always been a lonely place, but it was somehow worse now. 

Now he really wished he’d asked Ren to accompany him. He’d come the first time, after all, when they broke the lock. He had listened to Yusuke ramble on and on, too, until they’d been interrupted by that man. 

He should have asked for company. If not Ren and Morgana, then Ann’s, or even Ryuji’s. He didn’t know Makoto quite as well yet, since she was a rather new addition, but he’d rather enjoy her company here as well. He’d gotten rather used to their presence. Being back here by himself was... jarring. 

He had a lot to thank them for. 

He was startled from his thoughts by the sound of the door opening downstairs. He leapt to his feet, balance thrown off a little by the sudden movement, snatching up his phone and turning the flashlight off quickly. 

Was it looters? Surely they wouldn’t be foolish enough to believe that there was anything of value left in the old building. The media had made quite a show of Madarame’s downfall already and they hadn’t even had the trial yet. Yusuke would know, considering he was counting down the days until he would be asked to testify. 

He didn’t particularly want to fight robbers off, either. He was tired from the long day spent in the Palace, exhaustion set in his bones like an old friend. He wasn’t sure he was even strong enough to put up a good fight in this world. 

They were climbing the stairs. 

Yusuke wondered if he would break an ankle going out the window. 

He was halfway there when he heard a voice call out, “Yusuke?”

Yusuke jumped at the sound of his own name before realizing with a start that he recognized the voice’s owner. “Natsuhiko?”

On the other side of the doorway, he could make out Nakanohara blinking in surprise. He pushed his glasses up farther on his nose, an old nervous habit that Yusuke immediately recognized from their time spent together. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was in the area and saw that the lock was broken.” 

“As was I,” Yusuke said. He decided there was no need to mention that he was responsible for the broken the lock. 

Nakanohara had been the last of the pupils to flee. Madarame had tarnished his name and all but personally banned him from the art world. Yusuke remembered thinking that it was a shame because he was an incredibly capable painter. 

They had never been close, both preferring to stay in their own space to work and then spending every waking hour on their art. Even before it was just them, when all the students were crammed together in just two rooms, they’d never spoken much. It had been a perfectly amicable arrangement then, but now…

Yusuke didn’t know what to say to him. 

“The police really did a number on this place,” Nakanohara commented. He shifted from one foot to the other, looking around the room. 

Yusuke nodded. 

Nakanohara finally looked at him and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Yusuke.” 

“For what?” Yusuke asked, eyebrows furrowed. 

“For not taking you with me when I left,” Nakanohara answered, his gaze becoming dark. In the harsh shadows of the atlier, it wasn’t hard to imagine what his shadow must have looked like. 

In this setting, it was hard not to fall into old habits, but Yusuke swallowed back his defensive comments. “Don’t be. Regret is unbecoming in an artist.”

He could barely see the glint of Nakanohara’s bitter smile. “Well, I’m not an artist anymore.”

Yusuke sniffed the air, not entirely above sticking his nose up at him. “That’s a pity. You could have been great.”

Nakanohara was quiet for a moment. “I was. We all were. The old man hated that.” 

Yusuke snorted. He doubted that Madarame had minded very much, considering the better they were, the better he looked. “Perhaps.”

“I wish I had heard of the Phantom Thieves sooner,” he sighed. “I wish they could make him confess a thousand times.” 

Yusuke had known, of course, that Nakanohara was the first to tip the Phantom Thieves off in regards to Madarame’s crimes. Still, it was strange to hear it straight from him. 

“I’m simply glad that it came to pass,” Yusuke answered. 

Belatedly, he realized that he probably should thank Nakanohara for his involvement, but he didn’t. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to remember the circumstances that led to his meeting with the Phantom Thieves. Even if he didn’t know that Yusuke knew, he imagined it would still be an uncomfortable memory.

Instead, silence fell for several long, awkward moments. 

“Well,” Nakanohara said, “If you ever need anything. You know where to find me.” 

Yusuke bowed his head politely, “Thank you. That’s a generous offer.”

In the dark, Natsuhiko’s smile looked more like a grimace. The moon’s light was finally starting to shine through the windows, giving him a strong, eye catching contrast along his features. 

“Goodbye, Yusuke,” he said. “I’m looking forward to seeing your next painting. In your name.”

“It will be one to remember,” Yusuke assured him, watching as he retreated towards the stairs. 

As he waited for the sound of the door, he considered Natsuhiko’s offer. 

It was nice, but Yusuke doubted he’d ever need to take him up on it. He had the Thieves, his friends, now. 

At the thought of them, the dark room suddenly didn’t feel so miserable anymore. Not when they were on the other side of the door. 

Appreciation alone was enough to cause him to unlock his phone, nearly blinding himself in the process. He had to let them know immediately. 

_ I feel it necessary to tell you all how grateful I am to have met all of you. _

Ryuji was the first to reply:  _ what’s with the sap, man? _

Ann was next, saying,  _ love u 2 yusuke!!!! _

Makoto, as level headed as ever, asked,  _ That was unexpected. Is something wrong? _

_ Nothing is wrong, I simply wanted to express my appreciation to you, _ he answered.

Ann’s reply was instantaneous:  _ awww! _

And Ren, surely fighting Morgana’s nagging that he should sleep, finally chimed in,  _ want to meet at Big Bang Burger? _

Yusuke agreed without hesitation. 

And maybe, when he left the atelier this time, it would truly be for the last time. 

**Author's Note:**

> i just love him :) a lot :) 
> 
> thanks for reading!!! pls kudos and comment if u enjoyed, it really means a lot to me!!! and im always open to screaming abt persona on twitter @vanitashours so feel free to hmu anytime!!
> 
> have a great day<3


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